How Are You?
by Hannah Lynn McDonald
Summary: Leslie Howard's "Reserved/Service for the Ladies". Character study. No background necessary.


"Say - do you think I'm such a dammned fool that I'm going to pretend not to know you? Why..." The older man held a hand out and waited for a moment, grabbing his hand and shaking it himself when there was no reaction. "How are you?"

How was he? What a question...

He was terrified. She had spoken strongly of the useless function of social classes - of how they served no purpose in a couple's love - but then she seemed to have...changed. And his majesty-! He _knew_ precisely where he worked, and he knew what bringing the Robinson's here would mean...

He supposed he was fortunate, in a way. Mr. Robinson seemed to lack murderous feelings towards him - but he could easily imagine the scene that had played out at the hotel. Had he found out that he was to meet Miss Robinson in her room at midnight? Had he only found out that his daughter had been abandoned? And his majesty's opinion of this? He hesitated to think... He wished to believe that it was still favourable - but who would lie to a girl above his station and lead her on? Hardly a gentleman - he was well placed where he was.

He was heartbroken. He loved her more than he supposed - more than he could bring himself to say. But he also loved her too much to pull her down to his level, and he knew that this was for the best - but it was as if she didn't care. As if all her fine words of equality and love had been chucked out the window on the train back.

Of course, he must be fair - she had said that she hadn't decided. He had been certain and she had been...not. Perhaps it was best that it had all happened in such a way, else she simply would have found out later. He had hoped that they wouldn't meet again, but it seemed that certain people were determined for the opposite. And her lack of caring would make it much simpler to move on - something he wished could be the same for him.

He was wounded. He felt as if the breathe had been crushed from his lungs and as if the world had crashed down upon his head - and he supposed he deserved it. What else could have been the fate of his 'incognito' holiday? Of masquerading as her equal?

There was a sad difference between serving at tables and sitting at them - but he wondered still why there should be. Did not Jesus serve his disciples - kneel down to wash their feet? Washing feet was certainly worse than serving table could ever be, and if the King of Kings could consider himself able to do that and still be the greatest of all beings... But that was the Lord and he was simply a waiter in a world where social strata was well-understood, accepted, and deemed necessary.

He was furious. What right did she have to judge him? _Why_ did she judge him? Would she have loved him better had he married her under a lie and then revealed it after they were bound? Yes, he had lied - but he would do it again. There was someone better for her, and she would be glad for his choice some day.

She could drop the dishes as she like, she could order him to change betwixt black and white ties all night, she could order him to wash the dishes himself; but it would accomplish nothing. He could be a lowly waiter, reminded to keep his place leagues below her; but he certainly would not concede to her the small victory of losing his temper. If the only way to oppose her was to do his job flawlessly and calmly, then that is what he would do - and he would finish perfectly.

He was broken. Perhaps not at the moment, and perhaps not entirely - but he was. His heart had been given to her, and she had thrown it down and trampled it. She insulted him, and sullied her own grand words. Perhaps he did not feel it now, but once she was gone the life would leave him too.

He wanted to slap the girl - to shout at her and demand to know the purpose of this game. He wanted to kiss her - to propose to her and ask her to make him the happiest man in the world. He wanted to serve her, but he could not set aside what little pride and dignity he had. Were he to step out of his place again, he would likely lose his job - and he would not give her the satisfaction of causing that.

He was confused. He could feel the anger and the pity in the room, could feel the annoyance of the guests and the confusion of some of the waiters - as well as the indignation of some of the others. He was furious as the pity, but somehow he knew it wasn't directed towards him - nor was the anger. But he couldn't understand it - why should she be pitied? Why should they be angered with their hostess? Problems with the food or the settings were his responsibility - what was the problem?

Perhaps it was that there were more that saw through the social classes? Perhaps there were more that saw the people that served them as equals serving in a different job rather than inferior beings? His majesty had welcomed him - but perhaps he was simply isolated. And in the same situation as he - only in the opposite direction. If he knew for certain this were true, he _would_ slap the girl; as it was unlikely that so many important clientele speaking for his return would hardly be ignored in a place such as this.

But how he felt mattered little. There was none he could speak with - none to sympathise or empathise with. The other waiters would be far more likely to tell him it was as he deserved rather than sympathise with his loss of love. And he quite agreed with them - although he was also quite close to also saying that it would be as _she_ deserved if she never found love again.

But here was a man who was asking how he _truly_ was - a man who knew the full story, and should be on his daughter's side, but didn't seem to care where he _should_ stand. A man that seemed truly happy to see him, and saw him only as a good friend - as a good man. A man that judged based on experience and merit, and not by birth or occupation.

He relaxed from his stiff stance, returning the handshake. His laugh was small and uneven as he replied, but it was genuine. "Not so well, Mr. Robinson."

* * *

 _AN: Hm. A character study of Leslie Howard's Max Tracy from the 1932 film_ _Service for the Ladies_ _, also called_ _Reserved for the Ladies_ _. Because I loved his character and the last scene and the entire film and truly wanted to write something for it - I rather enjoy character studies, and it will be interesting to find out if ANYONE else knows these or if I will be writing in the deadest fandom ever. Quite interesting... - and this seemed to be the only ideal spot. C'est_ _voila! My apologies for imposing - thank you for taking the time to read this! Hmmm...I wonder how many crossovers I could do with Morgan someday...And when that fandom with become as extinct..._ _6-26-2015_


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